


there are terrible things you can't remember

by TheElusiveOllie



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Gen, Mental Coercion, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, tragic abuse of syntax
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1561088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheElusiveOllie/pseuds/TheElusiveOllie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex doesn't want to remember. But he does. Post-#67. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there are terrible things you can't remember

there are terrible things you can't remember and it hurts to try but by now you've just

stopped trying

and have long since learned to accept the times you wake up, nose bleeding and head throbbing with a dull, festering ache that never truly ceases. You've taught yourself to stop thinking clearly because if you do you might remember the things you've

things you've _done._

There is still pain, pulsing out from the lump on the back of your skull, from the bruises on your face, from the scrapes on your wrists and ankles, rubbed raw from being tied down with wire and rope.

But you have to keep walking, because the pain dulls with every step closer to _it he she they_ the whatever-it-is that you just accept exists

It has come to the point where you no longer know if it is pulling you toward it or if you have begun to come to it willingly. Your own will has blended seamlessly with that of _thatthing_ somewhere down the line, at some point before all this became so

_no no no no_

it tells you to follow, so it _you, Alex, you are Alex right now_ do as it says

it never speaks aloud, but just _wills_ somehow, and you hear it in your head and you listen. You always need to listen now.

it helps you sometimes. Like now, as the ache of your latest encounter with Tim steadily drains from your limbs. Like now, as you somehow ended up untied and alive despite how your last clear, cognizant thought was terror and anger as your own gun - the gun you don't remember consciously _getting_ , just _having_ at some indistinct point in time - was pointed at your head.

you'd never admit that you're grateful for the help

((it's not really intentional _help_ but you're more or less grateful for the distraction that takes the pain away, even for a second))

But sometimes _it_ gets

angry

If one could call it anger. You don't know if it can feel the way people do, but sometimes you wake up and remember the harsh _soundfeelhurt_ of a dark, burning _rage_ , blazed against the edges of your _its_ head. as if some murky purpose had been interrupted and it had lashed out, scarring the fringes of your mind.

The fringes of your mind that are already so scarred and jumbled that it's disturbingly easy to just _slip out_

everything has become so muddled now, confusing, but you've stopped fighting. It's easier to not fight, to just let it happen. If you think to0 hard on it…

no

you just need to _stopthink_

_erase erase erase_

just stop thinking clearly

stop thinking about what yo u hh „ e

you just need to keep being, just do as it says like a good toy soldier

forget

all the times you've woken up in your own house, wondering whose blood its left on your hands this time

there are terrible things you can't remember

things you s h oOUldn..t rm/em,ber;

../

**_ever_ **


End file.
